Here's an example of me being "that guy". The Celtics are up two games to none in a best of seven series against the favored Los Angeles Lakers, and I'm pissed at how they won last night to get here.
The Celtics allowed the Lakers to cut a deficit of 24 points with under 8 minutes (7:55, to be exact) left in the game, to 2 points with a little over 30 seconds (38.4, to be exact) remaining. And it wasn't like the C's were playing hard during that run. They just let the Lakers fire away from 3-point range with no defender within 20 feet of them, and guess what? They hit them! And on offense they were just kind of throwing the ball around to each other, hoping someone might at some point decide to score some points to stop the bleeding, and then taking and missing desperate shots like they were facing elimination in a game of H.O.R.S.E., or throwing the ball directly to someone in purple and gold.
And this was after we ( I, of course, use "we" when talking about my teams' accomplishments, and the third person when discussing their idiocy) had been completely dismantling and disheartening and straight-up dissing L.A., capped by a coast-to-coast, Cableguy-like yo mama dunk (1:48 into embedded vid) by formerly homeless Leon Powe.
So when Pierce fouled Kobe with under a minute (38.4 seconds, to be exact), and he hit both free throws - the Lakers only GOT 10 free throw attempts the entire game, and hit all ten - compared to 38 for the Celtics (who were definitely getting favorable calls and non-calls from the refs most of the game) - I naturally started screaming at the TV (which was only showing me the game because I found some old rabbit ears to get a signal because, of fucking course, the cable went out - tv, internet and phone, so convenient! - almost exactly at gametime).
Then it happened. Just before the Celtics went on to ice the game. I had a moment of clarity again. I somehow knew that I was taking this all too seriously, and that if I were to continue to invest this much energy and emotion into something so trivial and ultimately meaningless, I could possibly go over the edge. It was as if an Angel of Death were calling out to me to take it easy and focus on the truly meaningful things in life and just enjoy the ride before it is too late.
Or maybe it was Jill screaming at me from downstairs:
"RYAN!!!! I'M SLEEPING!!!!"